Monthly Archives: June 2017

Alien wolf shifter Treffon Thorolf knows he is heading into the darkness as he his True Mate died, he is certain of it. Years ago he felt his mate was close but he lost the feeling and has been unable to move past it. Violet Dufrense is a clumsy woman and has someone certainly trying to kill her. Violet doesn’t understand why though she is a nice person and has never wronged anyone. Deciding to take her friend up on the dating agency for aliens to get away from her killer stalker, she signs up and takes her aunt along. She bumps into Treffon right away and Treffon decides he is going to protect her and even though she is not his true mate he can’t stay away from her and hopes she will accept him as he is, but Violet wants true love. Maybe there is more about one another than they think.

I thought the aunt was a hoot. Another great story in the Starcrossed Dating Agency series. I liked all the characters in this book and thought Treffon was adorable while he tries to woo Violet in a sense, Violet is feisty and it brought a few laughs with every scene she was in.

The lake town of Maisonville was better known as Renaissance Lake and most who moved there were looking to begin again.

Sydney Bell was no exception. Recovering from a divorce she needed to pick up the pieces of her life and start over.

Unfortunately, in her new town the handsome Ryan Gentry next door and Sydney are already butting heads.

When the real reason she moved to the lake is revealed, she’s reminded that a small town can heal your soul, sparring with an arrogant neighbor can build self-esteem, and true friendship has the ability to make you a better person.

EXCERPT

RYAN GENTRY SLOWLY DROVE the winding road around Maison-Lafitte Lake, taking in the cypress trees and live oaks that shaded the drive. These trees, with their knobby roots, called knees, and the ones with large winding branches, gave the area character and helped set the small water town apart from other vacation destinations nearby.

The small town of Maisonville had virtually gone unnoticed until the late sixties when a group of young professionals from the city started buying property and settling their wives and children there for the summer months. Some remodeled old homes, but many tore down existing structures and built houses to fit their needs.

It was then that Maisonville had its largest population, and covenants were quickly established to keep the town from growing any larger. Currently, there were four hundred permanent residents, many who spent their childhood vacations at the lake and then later brought their children for the summer months. The town was enjoying a sort of renaissance.

A large group of retirees lived there year round, and they were a social group, getting together as often as possible, which gave a boost to the downtown shops and restaurant. Most the retirees used the nickname Renaissance Lake for the area because living there felt like a new beginning. Things had never looked better as they refurbished their homes and spent endless hours perfecting their lawns and flower beds.

It was turning into a retirement haven, but that quaint and peaceful town also lured young adults looking for the same type of paradise, which was why Ryan Gentry called it home. Unlike other towns in the area and the large city on the other side of the lake, Maisonville only opened itself up by hosting a few distinct festivals and by allowing rentals exclusively during the months of June and July.

Maisonville was a beloved area, and outsiders were always curious to get a peek inside the extraordinary town.

It was rare for homes to be sold because they were passed down to family members or relatives of friends. Therefore, property was usually at a premium with newer homes and condominiums on the east side of town and older homes in need of restoration on the west side, split in half by a perfect little downtown. Running north and south was the large lake and the famous bridge that ran twenty miles over water into the bright lights of the city.

Ryan lived and worked on the west side of town. He owned a small company that specialized in old home rehabilitation, and after repairing a few places for others, he began slowly acquiring homes himself. He was becoming well known in town for single-handedly rebuilding Westside, the name given to the area by locals.

He loved Westside and spent most of his vacations there as a kid with his sister and their Uncle. They swam and played water sports all summer long, and he’d hoped he would end up living here.

He was especially happy at the moment because he’d finally talked the owner of his favorite property into selling to him. Tracey McHenry had inherited the large white house at the bend of the lake thirty years ago, but he left Louisiana after college to live in Maine and never returned. He swore he couldn’t take the heat, but he wouldn’t budge on the property until Ryan kept at him.

Ryan sent pictures of the pier falling into the water along with the vines that had overtaken the solarium. It was one of the oldest homes in town, and he dreamed of restoring it to its original stature. He couldn’t believe it was finally going to be his.

Well, it would be his when he sold his latest project house so that he could afford the steep asking price. He couldn’t wait to see the look on his sister’s face when he told her. Reagan had encouraged him to start his own company and had invested a considerable amount to get him started. He was excited to pay her investment off, several months ago, but understood his working capital was strapped until he sold another property. He needed a buyer to fall out of the sky that week so he could buy the house.

He was in the middle of the steepest curve around the lake when he suddenly slammed on his brakes to avoid hitting a car that had stopped on the road. It was late afternoon, and with the tree cover, the old beige colored Subaru wagon was difficult to see. He quickly turned on his flashers and ran back behind his truck to throw down three orange cones and a flashing light.

Damn tourists were going to get someone killed with their site-seeing.

“What the hell are you doing, stopped here in the middle of the road?” he yelled, trying to locate the driver.

“Just looking around,” said a woman standing on the other side of the car.

“A ninety-degree turn is a great spot to stop your car. I almost hit you,” he said sarcastically as he rounded the car to see a pretty redhead wearing a sleeveless blue sundress and sandals. She was peering over the slight drop off at the edge of the road. When she turned around, he could see she had black marks on her forehead and cheek where she must have wiped her dirty hands.

She blinked her brown eyes several times, and he immediately could see she was trying not to cry. He then noticed she had a flat tire and when he looked over the side of the road, he could see her spare tire had somehow rolled down the steep hill several feet.

“Stay here. I’ll be right back,” Ryan said and jumped down the incline to rescue her roll away spare. Without talking to her, he returned and began to change the tire.

“Thank you, but I know how to change a tire,” she said, and he stopped and stared at her. She stepped toward him, and he held up his hand.

“I got it,” he said.

He had it done in ten minutes and then when he lowered the car with the jack, her spare went flat, too. He shook his head and walked back to his truck to get an air compressor. “When you have your oil changed, you should always have them check the spare tire for air.”

“I just bought it, okay?”

“The tire?”

“The car, genius.”

He looked at her and then at the car. He may not be a genius, but they didn’t match. She was wearing sandals that cost a fortune, and there was a purse on the seat of her car that cost more than the car. He knew because Reagan had the same bag and brand of shoes.

He held his hands up and then nodded at her. “You’re good to go now. I wouldn’t drive too far on that spare. It looks pretty old.”

She avoided his eyes but nodded as she headed for the driver’s door. She whispered “Thanks” before she got in and sped off.

City girl.

He hated the city.

***

Sydney Bell hurried into the driveway of the small real estate office. It was just off the downtown area, and she was thankful it was easy to find. She shook her head and wiped the black soot off her face and hands. Of course, she would have a flat tire since she was already running late for the real estate agent.

Houses here didn’t last long, and she knew she might not get another chance for a place here for quite some time. Four months ago there had been a condo on the lake that went up for sale, but there was a bidding war, and she lost out to another buyer.

The house she was seeing today wasn’t on the market officially—yet. She’d been driving around the area and stopped in at a small diner for some coffee and overheard a waitress there talking about it. She didn’t care what it looked like but hoped she could afford it. She desperately needed out of the city and hoped to find a place in Maisonville. She’d sold her late father’s house and then her luxury car, the only thing she got in the divorce, and was ready.

Now she just needed to talk these people into selling to her.

She smoothed down her dress and plastered a smile on her face as she walked into the office to meet Will Fontenot.

It didn’t take long for her to win Will over. He was a nice older man and a sucker for a pretty face with a sob story. She’d told him that her father had passed away before he was able to retire in Maisonville, but it had always been his dream.

She was going to hell for lying and for using her dead father as a reason to earn sympathy. Then again, she was desperate and if she could have asked her father, she was certain he would have given her permission to do it.

She wiped her eyes lightly with a tissue as Will drove her around the lake and toward Oak Cove. “I know the owner personally. His uncle and I were best friends, and I’m certain he would approve of you,” Will said, making her smile.

The drive on the west side of the lake was mesmerizing. It was curvy like the other side, but the road was closer to the water. A canopy of beautiful trees with moss shaded the area while the rippling water sparkled nearby.

Will appeared just as excited to show Sydney the house as she was to see it.

“You should have seen the place before it was redone. It hadn’t been lived in for over twenty years, and had the same décor that it did when it was built in the early fifties,” Will explained, talking the entire way over to the house.

Sydney was getting nervous as she listened to him talk about how old the property was and how terrible it looked. She wasn’t sure she would be able to afford the place already, but if she had to hire someone to do repairs, she would be in a lot more trouble.

They pulled onto the street, and she noticed a giant tree growing right in the middle of where the road should be, but instead, the road adjusted around it. Then at the end of the street, there was a circle, with two houses side by side. There was plenty of land on either side of the houses for more homes, but there were perfectly spaced trees everywhere. There was also a fountain on one side, and the grounds were enclosed by a white picket fence. It looked like a private park. She wrung her hands as she realized both of the houses looked very nice and really expensive.

“Are you sure that’s it?” Sydney asked as they pulled into the driveway on the left.

Will looked disappointed. “You don’t like it?”

“It’s beautiful, Mr. Fontenot. I just don’t think I can afford this place,” she said.

“The porches and garage make it look bigger. Come on. You’ll see. Besides, we can make a lower offer. You never know.”

Will turned off his car, and she followed behind him as he went to the front door and opened it. She paused to look at the details of the porch. It was beautiful. Someone had taken their time and hadn’t pinched pennies there. The spindles were painted white while the hand railing had been rubbed in a black stain to match the wide boards on the decking. It was stunning against the white house.

When she stepped inside, there was a small mud room with shelves to the left and a bench underneath. She slipped off her sandals and followed behind Will. Immediately, she noticed the open floor plan. She was standing in the kitchen but could see the dining room, then the living room, and large glass doors that looked out onto a beautiful deck, pier and the lake.

No way could she afford that house.

She exhaled and then bit her lip so she wouldn’t cry. All the time she spent worrying about the house selling too fast before she got there or it being in complete disrepair was a waste. She should have known that it would be out of her league. Most people wanted to live there. It’s why Drake insisted they spend their summer vacations at Maison-Lafitte Lake: it was expensive and exclusive.

He gently held out his hand to stop her. “Don’t you want to see the upstairs or go out on the back porch? It has an amazing view of the lake.” He smiled at her and gently led her to the staircase. “The owner is motivated and wants to sell this quickly.”

Sydney nodded and walked upstairs to see the spare bedroom with bathroom, laundry room and then the master bedroom with an attached bath. There was a smaller version of the downstairs glass doors on one side of the master bedroom, and it led out to a wide second story balcony.

Without speaking, she looked at the closets and checked out the attic, knowing the house was too much for her.

When they walked back downstairs, she followed Will out onto the deck and then pier and looked over to see the large boathouse next door. The house was for families, and she didn’t have one of those anymore. She wiped her eyes with tissue again, and this time the tears were for real. She turned her head so Will wouldn’t see her and was startled when he spoke standing closely behind her.

“Come now, Miss Bell. Let me go inside and make a call.”

She nodded and then watched as Will walked inside already on the phone with someone. He was gone for thirty minutes, and Sydney sat on the end of the pier with her feet hanging over the water. It was a beautiful place. If her boys could be here, they would already be in the lake, swimming and laughing. She wiped her face quickly and swallowed back the emotion. She shouldn’t have tears left, but she did. She had to toughen up and make a go of things. She was on her own. It was time. She had a plan, and she would find a way to make it happen.

She heard Will clear his throat, and she jumped up to meet him at the glass door. He had a strange look on his face, and she couldn’t tell if he was angry or sad. Something was wrong.

“You okay, Mr. Fontenot?” she asked, nervously.

He slapped a smile on his face and nodded at her. “He’s a hard-headed bastard.”

“The owner?” Sydney asked.

Will kept grinning, but she knew he was mad. “Yes. He’s home but won’t come meet you. He said to send him an offer.”

“Is that bad?”

“He does usually meet the prospective buyers, but don’t let that get to you. We’ll go straight to my office and see how eager he is to sell.”

2

THE DELUGE OF RAIN WAITED until the moving truck was scheduled to arrive and then drowned any hope Sydney had of a smooth move in day.

She’d paid a little extra for them to arrive that morning; that way she’d be finished by the time Ryan returned home next door.

He was the jerk who had helped change her tire the first day she came to town and the owner who reluctantly sold her the house. She wasn’t certain how Will talked him into it, but Will said he was a family friend and that must have mattered to Ryan. Of course, he could have simply been motivated by the cash offer. It took the money she had from the sale of her father’s large home and the sale of her Mercedes wagon for her to afford the beautiful cottage. It was more than she should have spent but way less than the place was worth.

Ryan shook his head during the closing, avoiding looking at her the entire time. Will said he was perpetually grouchy, but she knew he was unhappy about selling to her specifically. She acted sweet and told him how much she loved the house and promised to be a quiet neighbor. However, during the hour-long meeting, Ryan didn’t say more than a few words to her, but he managed to slip the word “genius” into the conversation at least five times.

She couldn’t help it, sometimes words popped out of her mouth before she could stop them. She’d wished she hadn’t been snarky and called Ryan a genius that day on the roadside, especially after he changed her tire, but she couldn’t take it back.

It didn’t matter. He didn’t have to like her. She would prove she could be a good neighbor and ignore him back.

As the moving truck turned onto her twisted street, she realized the truck was much bigger than she remembered. Most of her belongings had been from her father’s estate and picked up from a large storage building where there was plenty of room to maneuver. There was a lot less room on her new street that had large oak trees that had taken up residence a hundred years before the houses were built.

Ryan had made sure these incredible trees, along with the one that partially divided their driveways, weren’t disturbed during the remodeling of their houses. Instead, they were showcased in the landscape with up lighting.

As the rain pummeled down, Sydney ran to motion the truck in front of her house, hoping she could keep them from driving on Ryan’s perfect grass. More importantly, she had to protect the tree limbs that dipped down to the ground before twisting back up to the sky.

She was wearing shorts and a t-shirt but thankfully thought to throw on her green rain boots and matching raincoat before she ran out there, waving her arms. She shook her head as she considered how mad Ryan had acted toward her already, and she’d just gotten here. She had to protect that tree.

The truck barely made the turn around the tree in the middle of the street and then ran partially into Ryan’s yard before making the sharp left into hers. Sydney suddenly realized they didn’t see her and she was narrowly missed by the truck as she ran up the stairs onto her porch.

Screeching the brakes as they hit the wooden steps, Sydney braced herself as the entire porch groaned and shook. The driver then reversed a few feet before throwing the truck into park and sliding out of the driver’s side door to look at her.

The rain slowed down but didn’t stop. Sydney cut her eyes at the driver when she realized his truck not only blocked her driveway but was stretched precariously across the street and Ryan’s drive, too. The driver had completely trapped her in and the rest of the world out.

“Who put those steps there?” The driver laughed and then lowered his eyes at her, daring her to say anything.

Sydney didn’t care how he looked at her. She wasn’t going to accept his behavior. “Look at my steps! Look at my porch! No one would take that turn at forty miles an hour in clear weather. What were you thinking?” she yelled.

The scruffy man’s eyes turned to slits. “Look, lady, I have three deliveries today. Either you want your furniture, or you don’t. Let’s get on with it, or I’m going to take care of my other customers, and you can get your stuff tomorrow.”

He thought he’d made a good point. After all, what could she do? He had her stuff, and she needed help to unload it. She was alone, and he could make things easier or harder for her. He gave her his most arrogant grin and watched her walk to the truck door and climb partially inside the cab before she jumped back out. She then walked past him, and he watched her curiously as she strutted up the steps to the porch and into her house, slamming the door.

The other man in the truck stuck his head out. “Chuck? Um, she took the keys.”

“She what?” Chuck asked.

“Keys to the truck. She took ‘em.”

Chuck made a sound like an animal snarling. “Why the hell didn’t ya stop her, Alan?”

“Why didn’t you stop her?” Alan mumbled, as he sat back down to keep dry and slammed the door shut.

Sydney returned holding her cell phone. “Are you going to call Mr. O’Malley or am I?” she asked, ignoring the growling sounds he made and his red face.

She clearly had no regard for her own safety. Chuck marched right up to her and glared into her eyes. “Now why the hell would I call my dad?”

Sydney was on her tiptoes trying to appear bigger as she argued with the driver.

“You know why, and –.”

They were interrupted by a loud pickup truck horn blaring on the other side of the moving truck.

“No,” Sydney muttered. It was Ryan. What was he doing home?

The driver turned to look as Ryan walked around the front of the truck and toward Sydney’s porch. Ryan gave a short wave to Alan and then slowly walked over to the steps where Sydney and Chuck looked like they were about to brawl.

“Ms. Bell,” he said, and nodded his head her way. “What have you done this time?”

“I haven’t done anything, and this is none of your business,” she said defensively.

The driver grinned. “We were having a little chat, and she took the keys out of my truck.”

Ryan looked at the bowed porch and crooked steps and nodded his head. The driver added, “I may have bumped her steps when I made the turn, but it was raining like hell.”

Ryan looked closely at the steps and then walked up on the porch. “No reason to cry over spilled milk. I can patch that up in no time.” Ryan smiled at the driver. “Need some help with that furniture?”

“No. I, uh, wait, Ryan. I need to call his boss.” Sydney stammered as Ryan stepped in to take over.

“No need to call Mr. O. Right, men?” Ryan asked the movers as they opened up the back of the truck and got ready to hand down furniture.

“But–.” Sydney wanted to disagree, but the look Ryan gave her made her stop.

“You direct traffic, and we’ll haul things inside,” Ryan said and nodded his head until Sydney gave up and nodded back.

It didn’t take long for them to unload her furniture and boxes. Then Ryan thanked them and walked them out of the house to their truck. Sydney’s anger had calmed down through the rain, sweat, and tears of moving her belongings into the house. It was clear she no longer had a family and certainly no kids by looking at her things. She sat down on the couch, thinking about her boys.

Before she could get misty eyed over them, Ryan walked back in the front door without knocking.

Sydney stood up and looked at him. “Thank you,” she said, but as she barely got the words out of her mouth, Ryan was in her space.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he scolded her.

She wanted to yell back at him, but she was exhausted and more than a little shocked at his behavior. She avoided his eyes as she whispered, “What?”

“I drive up and, of course, there is a moving truck blocking the entire street and my driveway. You’re standing there in your little girl rain boots and coat, about to start World War III with two ex-cons! Are you looking for trouble?”

Before she could answer, he threw his hands up in the air.

“Or maybe you just don’t understand the concept of peace and quiet. You certainly don’t know how to keep the peace. Don’t tell me you don’t know that O’Malley’s movers are ex-cons recently let out on parole, including Mr. O’Malley’s oldest son, Chuck. Hell, some of the guys he hires just have day passes from jail to work and then return at night.” Ryan eyed her. “Surely you knew that was the reason they were so much cheaper than everyone else. Besides, did you get a good look at that Alan guy? I’m pretty sure he was on America’s Most Wanted a few years back.”

Sydney held back the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks. She’d spent most of her money buying the house and was simply grateful to have found an inexpensive moving company. There was no question about O’Malley’s because they were her only option.

She refused to admit she didn’t know about the workers being ex-cons. She was having a hard enough time keeping her wits and not looking foolish around Ryan. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept more than a few hours. The lack of sleep coupled with the stress of moving, how much she missed her boys and now for the umpteenth time, the disapproving words of her only neighbor, she found herself without words. That didn’t happen often.

Ryan stopped and stared at her, probably disappointed that she wouldn’t fight with him. He seemed like a man who liked to argue. He then turned, grabbed his rain jacket and stalked out her back door.

She watched as he stormed across her back deck and jumped across to his side and then into his house. As soon as he was out of sight, she slumped back down to the couch where she let her tears take over. She sobbed over missing her children. No matter what Drake had said in court, they were her kids. She cried over the end of her marriage and the idea of being alone. She then cried over her new lake house and how she could ever afford to live here by herself. Then she finally cried because she was just so flipping tired.

Ryan slammed the door as he stomped into his house. What the hell was he thinking? He wanted to buy that great property around the bend, but he could have waited a few more weeks to get his list price and a different buyer. How did he allow Uncle Trey’s best friend, Will, talk him into selling at such a deeply discounted price? He shouldn’t have listened when Will told him she was alone and needed help as a single woman who was recently divorced. It was business and not personal.

Ryan had rules, and when he stuck to them things were fine. In fact, the only time he ever had a problem was when he skirted around these rules. Now, instead of a nice quiet retired couple that might invite him over for a beer every now and again, he was stuck with her.

He slammed his hand down on the counter. He didn’t have anything against Sydney for being a woman. His sister was his closest friend. He loved women. He enjoyed the way they smelled, their soft skin, sweet voices and especially how they felt in his bed, but he couldn’t handle the complicated ones. His life was simple, peaceful and quiet. He fixed houses, not people.

Ryan walked to his fridge and grabbed a cold beer. It was ten in the morning. He paused, looking at the clock and then put the beer back into the refrigerator. He went into his garage and picked up the drill and charger that he’d forgotten that morning and then went back to work.

Driving back toward his current project house, he calmed down, and then his mind went back to her. Sydney Bell. So, she was going through a breakup. Everyone had been there. It was tough, but you do what you have to do and move on. It had been ten years since he’d dated anyone seriously. His girlfriend had sent him a Dear John letter while he was overseas, and he simply went on with his life.

He shook his head and smirked. He’d moved on as often as he could without getting labeled a womanizer. Now in Maisonville, he was considered a confirmed bachelor, and life was good. Women wanted to reform him, and some just wanted a notch on their own bedpost.

Sydney would get over the whole thing easier if she would simply find someone to come home with her. There were plenty of men who would take one look at her and step up to the challenge. In fact, Ryan had helped more than a few divorcees in town. He ran his hands through his hair and tightened his jaw. He had a weakness for redheads, but she was not his type.

First of all, she was his next door neighbor, and he believed in the rule, don’t screw your neighbor. No, she was not going to happen. He was going to have to stop coming to her rescue. She either was helpless or had the worst luck of anyone he’d met, and he’d made the mistake of jumping in three times already. That was just stupid. He should have made a U-turn and avoided their street until that moving truck was gone, but O’Malley’s movers were from the next town over and had a reputation. He’d had a fight with Mr. O’Malley’s son, Chuck, some time ago and understood wherever Chuck went, there was trouble. Then he saw her standing on her tiptoes, arguing with that mouth-breather.

It was a wonder the bastard hadn’t taken a swing at her or worse. Ryan couldn’t let that happen even if she had let her mouth overrun her ass. He had to step in. He couldn’t just let the freaking animal at her. Besides, the creep would have just come back later to make her pay for causing him trouble with his old man.

Not on his watch.

That was his neighborhood, and he wasn’t going to let anything disturb the quiet nirvana he’d created at the lake. Ryan reached up and squeezed the bridge of his nose as he parked his truck. He would make sure Sydney Bell understood the rules again. He’d torn that house down to the bones and built it back up to the perfection it was today so that he could have an exquisite neighborhood. She wasn’t going to ruin that, and he was going to set her straight.

He wasn’t there to watch over her. Her tears had made him queasy, and he had to bolt before he offered to help her with anything else. She could learn a thing or two from him about healing herself with alcohol, women or a nice loyal dog. He laughed. Maybe not women.

Ryan spent the rest of his day working, but he didn’t have the stamina that he’d started with earlier. He couldn’t get his new neighbor off his mind. He was going to have to go out tonight so that he could avoid her. He needed female company to get that woman out of his head.

It was late when he returned home. He dropped his things into the garage before he walked into the kitchen and grabbed a beer. He barely made it before the sunset and hurried to sit outside on his large deck. It was his evening routine. Before dinner, he would sit outside and watch the sun go down over the lake with his feet propped up. It was his form of meditation, which his therapist had ordered, and it helped his stress slip away.

Tonight he couldn’t get Sydney off his brain. He should go back and give her a piece of his mind, but he remembered the look she had given him when he left. Instead, he paced the deck a few times and then leaned back on the railing, where he realized he could see into her great room.

There she was on that tiny sofa of hers. Ryan saw her body shaking as she cried uncontrollably.

He set his beer down and turned to pace the deck again. He was an asshole. He was a straight shooter, and he knew that sometimes it came off rude.

Not sometimes.

He shouldn’t have yelled at her. He should have just walked away after those movers left, but that bastard Chuck had said some crap about her before he got into the truck, and it got him worked up. She needed to be careful. A woman living alone had to be more aware of the vibe she gave off around men like that.

Ryan walked back over to look in on her. She appeared to be sleeping now, must have cried herself to sleep. He wiped his face and finally had a seat on one of his outdoor chairs, propping his feet up.

He had fallen for the lake the first time he came here to visit his uncle.

Uncle Trey was married for a few years, but eventually divorced and didn’t remarry. He loved to fish, play cards and tell jokes. He was the perfect uncle. Ryan’s sister would talk their mother into letting them spend most of the summer with Uncle Trey. It was during those summers that Reagan learned how to play poker and used the skill to pay her way through college and law school. She was ridiculously smart and sort of his hero.

She lived in the city, but getting together once a month for dinner was the most she could manage with her work schedule. He wanted her to share the house their uncle had left to them, but she refused and signed the deed over to Ryan. She then turned around and bought the first house he rehabbed before anyone else had a chance to buy it.

Reagan had told him that was what he was born to do. She supported his military service but was the only one who saw the damage it had done to his soul. They rarely spoke of it, but when he returned from his final tour of duty overseas, she hired a therapist and sent a car each week to make sure he went.

He did it for her. At least, in the beginning, that was true, but by the end of three months when he felt like a normal person again, he realized he had done it to heal himself. He’d been up close to some of the earth’s most despicable criminals that put not only his life in danger but sacrificed their wives and children in order to protect themselves. His unit had prevented more than a dozen large-scale attacks on the U.S. and three allied countries. It took eliminating entire families to stop many of these events, and for a long time, he couldn’t process any of it.

Reagan saved his life with that therapist, and he wasn’t sure she understood that, even today.

He stood up. He couldn’t think of any of that right now. It was dark, and he was starving. Tonight Miss Lynn’s Diner served meatloaf, and he’d planned to eat out, but now he didn’t want to be around anyone else. Instead, he went out and picked up a pizza to eat at home alone.

He was drinking another beer and eating two slices at a time from the box as he sat on his porch when he saw the light turn on next door.

He slid his chair into a dark corner, pretending he hadn’t been watching for her. Then he settled back to continue eating.

Sydney was up

About the Author

Lisa Herrington is a Women’s Fiction and YA novelist, blogger and speaker. A former medical sales rep, she currently manages the largest Meet-Up writing group in the New Orleans area, The Bayou Writer’s Club. She was born and raised in Louisiana, attended college at Ole Miss in Oxford, Mississippi and accepts that in New Orleans we never hide our crazy but instead parade it around on the front porch and give it a cocktail. It’s certainly why she has so many stories to tell today. When she’s not writing, and spending time with her husband and three children, she spends time reading, watching old movies or planning something new and exciting with her writer’s group.

Connect with Lisa, find out about new releases, and get free books at lisaherrington.com

Synopsis

Captain T.K. Reaper only cares about his men; until he ends up falling for the one woman who can rescue his team.

Reaper has lived his entire life without love. Living on the edge with no fear, Reaper and his team volunteered for Project Mayhem— a top-secret experiment that uses a serum to enhance physical abilities in order to fight terrorism. Reaper believed the experiment would help save lives, but the serum only ends up taking them. Forced to go on the run, Reaper escapes the lab with his men, only to realize that they need the serum to survive. He has only one choice; return to the lab, and steal the source of the serum.

Caroline Cotter used to be a spoiled Senator’s daughter; now, she’s a victim. Kidnapped and held against her will to make the serum used for Project Mayhem, Caroline gives up hope of ever being free again… until Reaper enters, and frees her from her dark prison.

Yet the jungle outside is full of terrors, and government officials are hot on their tail. Reaper plans to keep the relationship between him and Caroline platonic, but undeniable attraction and explosive desire, coupled with Caroline’s adoration that he saved her from certain death, make it hard to resist the love story blossoming between them.

What will Reaper choose? His romance with Caroline, or the sacred vow he’s made to the brothers willing to die by his side?

Thrills and action are on every turn of the page in the first book of the Operation Mayhem Series. Packed with adventure, heat, and a slight paranormal twist, Mayhem’s Warrior is a dark romantic suspense novel readers will delightfully devour.

Giveaway

About the Author

Lindsay Cross is the award-winning author of the Men of Mercy series. She is the fun loving mom of two beautiful daughters and one precocious Great Dane. Lindsay is happily married to the man of her dreams – a soldier and veteran. During one of her husband’s deployments from home, writing became her escape and motivation.

An avid reader since childhood, reading and writing is in her blood. After years of reading, she discovered her true passion – writing. Her alpha military men are damaged, drop-dead gorgeous and determined to win the heart of the woman of their dreams.

Alexandra Parker came home from the past only to find herself in the middle of an underground war—one that could affect the fate of Variants everywhere.

Fighting an all-powerful government agency is tough enough, but when a secret from John Grayson’s past comes back to haunt them all, the group’s united front begins to crumble. And when Alex’s own painful memories threaten to push her past her breaking point, the uprising stands to lose its most powerful weapon.

With their lives and their freedom on the line, can Declan, Nate, and the rest of the Grayson family hold it together long enough to bring down Director Carter and derail Brian’s apocalyptic visions?

As Alex struggles to master her most volatile ability yet, only one thing is certain: the uprising’s cold war with the Agency is about to turn red hot.

“Would you like to continue?” Brandt asked, his tone mocking. “Or do you need a break?”

Alex wiped distractedly at her brow, straightened her posture, and gave a nod. “I’m ready. Let’s keep going.”

Brandt smiled. “As you wish, little girl.”

He split the fiery orb he held in two before allowing each of them to double in size—and then he lobbed one of them directly at her head.

Standing as they were, only a few yards apart, she barely had time to dive out of the way. The fireball hit the ground just behind her, singeing the earth to a blackened char before fizzling out.

Alex got back to her feet. Again, Brandt split the orb he held in two before sending one spiraling toward her face.

This time she was ready and managed to catch the blazing orb just a few fleeting inches from the tip of her nose. She shrank the ball little by little until she was able to force it to blink out entirely.

Distracted as she was by her efforts, she almost failed to notice the next orb hurtling her way. It took everything she had to react in time to catch that one, too, and dissolve it. This time, she glanced up to discover two fiery masses spiraling in her direction.

Again, Alex was forced to redouble her efforts in order to catch both simultaneously and dissipate them.

And then there were three.

Four.

Five.

Soon Alex’s world consisted only of the flames hurtling toward her and the effort it required to force each orb out of existence.

Within another two minutes, the number of orbs being launched simultaneously in her direction had hit double digits.

Drowning beneath the constant onslaught, Alex grew desperate.

“Brandt, stop!” she gasped out. “Please!”

Instead of slowing, the speed and strength of his volleys intensified.

“Stop?” he repeated, incredulous. “I thought you were here this morning to learn. To train. Are you really going to give up so easily, little girl?”

Exhaustion turned swiftly to rage. Alex growled as she countered orb after orb, dissolving each one with barely an instant remaining to prepare for the next explosive torrent.

“Stop calling me little girl,” she spat through clenched teeth, struggling to hold back the barrage.

“Then stop acting like one,” he replied. “If you just wait around for people to start taking you seriously, you’re never gonna get anywhere. You want to go toe-to-toe with the boys? You want to stand on an equal playing field? Newsflash, little girl. Such a field doesn’t exist. Not for you.”
She could feel the anger burning through her, hotter even than the fire she wielded.

“Don’t ask to be their equal,” Brandt said. “Demand it. Then ready yourself so that, when the time comes, you leave them all behind. Make certain that there will be no doubt that you’re so much more than they ever dreamed.”

Alex could feel her strength—and her ability to focus—waning. She had seconds at most before her concentration gave out and the hailstorm of orbs made contact.

Summoning the last of her willpower, Alex took hold of every lick of fire in the open field, including the ones Brandt still held. Ripping them away from his control, she stretched out her arms, drew the nearly two dozen orbs toward her, and formed a veritable wall with them… and then she catapulted them all back toward her opponent.

Eyes widening in surprise behind his wire-rimmed glasses, Brandt stumbled backward, unable to stop the attack that was now heading straight for him.

Author Bio:

Jena Leigh is the author of the Variant Series novels REVIVAL, RESISTANCE, REDUX, and RECKONING. She’s currently hard at work on the fifth novel in the series. Born and raised in the lightning capital of North America, she eventually made her home in the Smoky Mountains of Western North Carolina. A shameless geek, she loves coffee, loud music, bad sci-fi movies, Skittles, and shenanigan-filled road trips to faraway concerts.

Synopsis

Sydney hates liars, despises them really, so what is she to do when the man her heart wants most turns out to be the biggest betrayer and deceiver of them all?

Sydney never finds herself in trouble. She always listens to her parents, follows the rules, and does what is expected of her, but in one moment, that all changes. The day she meets a campus police officer and keeps their relationship a secret from her family, her life takes on a dark turn…

Now scarred and tormented by nightmares, Sydney hides her fears from everyone as she moves back home and takes over her mother’s bakery.

Just when she believes she has a handle on her life, a mysterious man waltzes into her shop and turns her world upside down. Behind the beard and silver eyes Sydney knows he’s hiding something, but is the attraction worth losing herself again?

Dylan Bennett knows he is in trouble the first time he lays eyes on Sydney. Behind her wavy blonde hair and flour-covered clothes he knows that she holds the key to his undoing, but he can’t risk it.

As an undercover agent, Dylan lives his life by strict codes and calculations. He knows one wrong move could put Sydney in danger, but something about her draws him in and that may prove to be the biggest risk he has ever taken. What happens when she finds out the lies behind those silver eyes?

Will the deception become too much for Sydney or will she fight alongside Dylan to bury the one person who brings her past back to the surface?

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Excerpt

DYLAN STANDS OUTSIDE SYDNEY’S door, the knuckles of one hand gently tapping on the wood while holding a bouquet of daisies and wild flowers in the other.

After helping Sydney at the bakery this morning and completing a walk-through of The Grill with her brother, Dylan had asked Austin if he had a place in town he could shower and change clothes. Austin had eyed him skeptically, but had offered use of his apartment in town. Dylan was glad he had kept his duffle bag in his car since he hadn’t made it back to Asheville the previous night.

Standing at the door waiting for Sydney to answer, Dylan is fraught with something that has never happened in all the years he has been dating…nerves. He is actually nervous to take Sydney out on a date. Sure, they seemed to get along fine when they were working together, and of course the attraction between them sizzled in epic proportions, but Dylan had a hard time reconciling between the playful Sydney and the scared Sydney. The scared Sydney always fought against what they could have and that made him nervous.

She is something special, someone that deserves to be cherished and he knows that if she gives him the chance, he can prove it to her.

A creak sounds from the door hinges and Dylan looks up from the flowers to find a beautiful creature standing before him. Sydney may have been going for something quick and casual, but Dylan’s tongue practically drops from his mouth as he gazes at her. He takes note of her appearance, beginning with her long blonde hair that is tied up in a ponytail high on her head, the soft waves curling on the end and brushing past her shoulders. A red and black flannel shirt hangs loosely around her, but does little to conceal the womanly shape of her body. The pièce de résistance is the skin-tight black leggings covering her legs. Dylan is almost happy at the fact that the flannel shirt hangs past her ass, because he isn’t sure he would be able to control himself if he saw that perfectly toned portion of her body in the pants.

“I’m sorry, I’m almost ready. I just need to find my shoes. I was sucked into this antique picking show and I couldn’t pull myself away. You can come in,” she gestures as she rushes through the living room and down the hallway.

Instead of standing idly, Dylan moves towards her kitchen and looks in the cabinet above the fridge for a vase. Bingo. He chuckles to himself, thinking that it seems to be the universal spot to hold that item.

Just as he is stepping back from admiring his work on the arrangement that he placed on her coffee table, Sydney joins him in the living room. Dylan hadn’t noticed before, but she has swiped a few coats of mascara on her lashes and added a deep shade of red lipstick on mouth.

“I’m ready,” she announces, grabbing her jacket from where it hangs on a hook by the door. “The flowers look beautiful, by the way.”

She takes a hold of the doorknob, ready to exit, then glances back at Dylan as he says, “Sydney. You look beautiful.” He makes sure to emphasize the fact that he thinks she is the most beautiful item in the room. Country. World. In such a short period of time, he has become so wickedly entranced by her that Dylan would rather spend a life in solitude and have the chance to spend one day with her, than have anything else his heart desires. That thought alone would have scared Dylan a few months back, but now? Now Dylan embraces the feelings bubbling up inside of him. This high he feels whenever he is around her is more powerful than any drug he has ever come across while on the force. She is powerful, captivating, spellbinding.

About the Author

Renee Harless is a romance writer with an affinity for wine and a passion for telling a good story.

Renee Harless, her husband, and children live in Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia. She studied Communication, specifically Public Relations, at Radford University.

Growing up, Renee always found a way to pursue her creativity. It began by watching endless runs of White Christmas- yes even in the summer – and learning every word and dance from the movie. She could still sing “Sister Sister” if requested. In high school she joined the show choir and a community theatre group, The Troubadours. After marrying the man of her dreams and moving from her hometown she sought out a different artistic outlet – writing.

To say that Renee is a romance addict would be an understatement. When she isn’t chasing her toddler or preschooler around the house, working her day job, or writing, she jumps head first into a romance novel.

Franco Allessi is a broken, lonely man who wants nothing more than to outrun the ghosts of his past. For years, he tries to numb the pain of his wife’s death with cheap beer and whiskey. When he’s convicted of drunk driving, the judge revokes his license for six months and orders him to serve fifty hours of community service. Franco chooses Savannah Falls Hospice for no reason other than it’s walking distance from his dilapidated house trailer.

On his first day on the job, he meets Aubrey Brewer, a woman whose time on earth is quickly ticking to a stop. Their unusual connection teaches powerful, life-changing lessons about friendship, acceptance, and the importance of appreciating that precious treasure called Life.

Loree Lough is an exceptional author, and that’s why I approached her about writing the novel for my Feature film, 50 Hours. But I had no idea how wonderful her novelization would be until I read it. Loree was able to dig so deep into my characters. She unearthed and richly developed the film’s skeletal characters and give them three dimensional lives. I am so happy with the book!

– Kevin O’Neill, writer/director/actor/producer

Praise for 50 Hours by Loree Lough

50 Hours is a moving story about love, loss, friendship, and last chances. It’s a reminder that our lives are precious stories, no matter how long or short. This is a must-read for all of us who have been touched by cancer – victims, caregivers, family, and friends. This poignant and touching tale will inspire hope in the midst of even the darkest hours.

– Cerella Sechrist, author of the popular Findlay Roads series from Harlequin

You’ll laugh, you’ll cry… 50 Hours is an unforgettable tale of healing, redemption, and the cost of true love. With a delicate pen, author Loree Lough writes an honest and poignant view of what cancer patients face with commendable bravery. A must-read for readers of every kind!

– Rachel Muller, author of bestselling World War II series, Love & War, and the newly released, Phillip’s War

Loree Lough took a difficult subject and turned it into a compelling read with light humor to soften the inevitable sadness that comes with a depressing disease.

– Emma Gingerich – author of Runaway Amish Girl; the Great Escape

50 Hours is a book you won’t be able to put down, and its messages of love and compassion will linger with you long after you’ve turned the last page.

Emerson said, “To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived, this is to have succeeded.” Aubrey and Franco succeeded. Believe me when I say, THIS IS THE KIND OF BOOK THAT WINS PULITZER PRIZES.

– Catherine Lanigan, author of Romancing the Stone, The Jewel of the Nile, and over forty-five novels and non-fiction

To read the complete praises and accolades, visit the 50 Hours Book Page at Book Unleashed.

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An Excerpt from the Book

Take an inside look at 50 Hours with this sizzling excerpt from the book.

DURING THE DRIVE BETWEEN THE COURTHOUSE AND MAMA’S BOY DINER, David Gibbons barely spoke. Even now, seated at their table near the windows, he remained quiet. Except for reciting his breakfast order, he hadn’t said a word, but Franco knew it was only a matter of time before he let him have it with both barrels, as his grandpa used to say.

Finally, when the waitress was out of earshot, he stared hard at Franco.

“Well?”

A-a-and there it is, he thought, running shaky hands through his hair. “Okay. Look. I know I should have called before all hell broke loose, but . . . but I was testing myself.”

David grabbed the sugar dispenser. “Testing yourself.” He sounded more like a disappointed dad than an AA sponsor.

“I thought maybe I could get through it on my own this time.”

“Bull.” He let the white granules stream into his cup. “You didn’t think. If you had, you would’ve given a thought to what happened last year. And the year before that.”

Franco knew he’d messed up. Again. And that he had nobody to blame but himself. Head pounding, he rubbed his temples as David’s spoon clanked against the sides of the mug. Had he ever met anyone who made more noise stirring coffee? He didn’t think so.

David pointed at Franco’s swollen lips and the bloody butterfly bandage a nurse at the jail had taped over his left eyebrow. “So, who cleaned your clock?”

“No. That was the work of the biker, attached to the pool cue.” Franco chuckled, then gripped his aching ribcage.

“Busted ribs too, huh?”

“Probably.”

“Probably? You mean they didn’t take you to the ER?”

“They offered. I said no.”

“Idiot.”

David couldn’t call him anything he hadn’t already called himself.

“You’re gonna have one heckuva scar when you peel that bandage off your forehead. Maybe it’ll serve as a reminder, help you really think next time you decide to, ah, test yourself.”

“You’re all heart, David. All heart.” He smirked. “Except for your mouth, of course. That’s more like another part of your anatomy.”

David waved away the insult. “You know how frustrating it is, watching you get this close to earning your one-year chip,” he said, thumb and forefinger an inch apart, “and then you go and bungle it by pulling another dumb stunt? Every. Single. Year?”

Franco didn’t have a comeback for that one. He’d screwed up. Royally. At least no one got hurt, other than himself. David knew it, too.

The men sat in stony silence as the waitress delivered their food.

David peeled back the top of a tiny jelly container. “When was the last time you went to a meeting?” he asked, smearing its contents on a wedge of toast.

It had been more than a month, but Franco didn’t want to open himself up to another firestorm, so he stuffed his mouth with food and shrugged.

David counted on his fingers: “Pushing your limits. Breaking the rules. Avoiding tough questions.” He salted his eggs. “You remind me so much of my kid, it’s almost scary.” He used his fork as a pointer. “And that shouldn’t come across as a compliment, since he’s ten.”

Touché, Franco thought, gulping his OJ. He winced when it stung the cuts inside his mouth.

“Maybe this community service stuff will finally shake some sense into you.”

He’d been acting like a fool for so long, it had become a habit. And yet he said, “Maybe.”

“How long did the judge give you to choose your community service project?”

“Twenty-four hours.”

“Well, it just so happens I have an idea.”

Franco stopped chewing. “Yeah?”

“There’s a hospice, a half-mile or so from your trailer— which is lucky for you, since you can’t drive—and I happen to know they’re in need of a gardener.”

Before Jill’s death, his landscape business had kept the wolf from the door. In the three years since, the only garden tool he’d touched had been the shovel Clayton kept out back for scooping up his dog’s poop. It might be nice, working hard again. Working so hard that he fell into bed too exhausted to have nightmares about the wreck that took Jill from him.

“You know the old saying, ‘If it seems too good to be true’?” Franco lifted one shoulder in an indifferent shrug. “But you’ve got my attention.”

David explained that his sister-in-law had spent her final days at Savannah Falls. “So I know for a fact that it’s a great place. I can take you over there, make introductions.”

“I dunno, Dave. A hospice center? You know better than anybody that I’m not exactly a people person. Dealing with sick people?” He winced again.

“Oh, quit your bellyaching. You’ll be outside, mowin’ and hoein’, and the patients will be inside—”

“—dying.” Hungry as he was, Franco shoved his plate aside, because it hurt to chew, and the bacon and buttery eggs burned the cut on his lip. “I dunno,” he said again.

“You’ll do fine, if you just do your job and keep your big yap shut. For a change.”

Franco grinned despite himself. Had it been good luck or bad that put him together with a guy who never sugar-coated anything?

David slid his cell phone across the table. “Call your lawyer, find out how we go about informing the judge that you’ve decided to get back into the posie-planting business. Cause last thing you need right now is to violate courthouse protocol.”

Franco slid Carlisle’s card from his pocket, and as he dialed, David said, “When you’re through there, I’ll call Mrs. Kane, the director, arrange a meeting between you two. She’s a good egg, but she doesn’t take any guff, so I’d watch my step if I were you. With any luck, she’ll put you to work tomorrow.”

“I have a job, y’know.” At least he hoped he had a job. Clayton might tell him to take a permanent hike once he heard . . . everything.

It only took a minute to run the hospice idea past the young attorney, and less than that to find out that a phone call from Carlisle would get things straight with Judge Malloy.

He returned David’s phone. “The kid said I should get over to Savannah Falls and sign up ASAP. Said the judge’s office wouldn’t waste any time checking up on me. And that I need to keep track of my hours, so that when the paperwork comes through . . . ”

Phone pressed to his ear, David wasn’t listening, because he’d already connected with Savannah Falls. Franco picked up a slice of cold bacon, and took care not to let it graze his sore lips when he bit off a chunk. He slid the plate close again. Hard to tell when he’d have the time—or the money—for another meal, so he did his best to clean his plate, listening as David explained the situation to the takes-no-guff Mrs. Kane.

“She can meet with you this afternoon,” he said, dropping the phone into his shirt pocket.

It was all happening too fast. Way too fast for Franco’s taste. “But . . . but I need to figure out how to get the Jeep out of the impound lot. And get over to the garage, see if Clayton can find something for me to do that doesn’t involve a driver’s license.”

“I’ll chauffer you around today. But first things first. I’m taking you home so you can clean up your boozy self. You need a shower. A toothbrush. And a change of clothes.” He wrinkled his nose. “You look—and smell—like something my cat puked up.”

“Cat puke, huh?” Franco smirked, even though it hurt to do it. “People can call you a lot of things, Gibbons, but tactful isn’t one of them.”

“Tact!” David got to his feet and tossed a twenty onto the table. “Who has time for tact with you falling off the wagon and going ballistic every couple months?”

Ordinarily, a crack like that would have set Franco off. For some reason, it struck him as weird penance, because he knew he had it coming.

Giveaway

About Loree Lough

Bestselling author LOREE LOUGH once sang for her supper, performing across the U.S. and Canada. Now and then, she blows the dust from her 6-string to croon a tune or two, but mostly, she writes novels that have earned hundreds of industry and “Readers’ Choice” awards, 4- and 5-star reviews, and 7 book-to-movie options. Her 115th book, 50 Hours, is her most personal to date. Recently released, The Man She Knew, book #1 in her “By Way of the Lighthouse” series from Harlequin Heartwarming.

Synopsis

My boss is teaching me to be bolder in the boardroom…and the bedroom. I’m not bold enough to take over my father’s company, but I’ve sworn to do whatever it takes to learn. Even if it means working for Jameson Stone, the billionaire CEO of Craze Advertising, who’s as hard and unmovable as his name implies. He tells me to demand what I want instead of backing down, something I’ve always struggled with—in the boardroom and the bedroom. There are things I want to try, things I’ve only read in my romance novels, but have been too afraid to ask for. When my boldness lessons turn into foreplay lessons, it’s nearly impossible not to fall, and if I’m not careful, I’ll end up losing everything I’ve worked for to a man who’ll always choose business over me.

Giveaway

About the Author

Cynthia Page loves making people laugh and blush, and has enough encounters of the awkward kind to inspire plenty of both. She’s a wife, mom, and full-time writer of steamy romantic comedies. She’s addicted to happily-ever-afters in books, movies, and real life.

Evil gathers in the Louisiana swamps, and it comes for the witches of New Orleans. If I had known, maybe I would have kept my guard up; I would have spent more time securing the city instead of spending my time learning about magick, and trying to bring witches and vampires together. But vanquishing the demon-bloods left us complacent, and comfortable. We celebrated, and enjoyed the period of peace that followed.

Now we have no idea of the danger we’re all in.

When unidentified vampires come in the night, swift and deadly, the witches of the city are left scattered, hurt, and broken. Though I’m wracked with grief for the injured and the dead, I have to find a way to lead, but there are those who won’t make that easy for me; those who would rather go back to the old days, where witches killed vampires with impunity, whether they were decent people or not. I can’t allow that to happen. We worked too hard to make New Orleans an inclusive place, and I’ll die before I let someone destroy everything we’ve built.

Inspired by fantastic authors such as Karen Marie Moning, Richelle Mead, and Shannon Mayer, Magick Reborn is the first book in Katerina’s brand-new Blood and Magick series of urban fantasy novels. Like deep mysteries, plenty of steam in your romance, and watching your heroine become a badass? This is the book for you!

Katerina Martinez is an up and coming author who writes supernatural fiction with a creepy, thrilling, and romantic bent. Though she has been writing for a couple of years, her success recently exploded with the release of “Dark Siren”, the first book in the breakout “Half-Lich” Trilogy which became an instant bestseller in 2016.

She follows the “Half-Lich” series with the “Blood and Magick” series—a story about a young writer who, in the aftermath of a brutal breakup, moves to a magickal new city in the hopes of rediscovering herself. In “Magick Reborn”, we pick up after Madison makes her move to New Orleans and watch her as she settles in, meets the local witches, and discovers a terrible, deadly secret hiding right under her nose.

If you would like to keep in touch with Katerina, learn about her work, and get notified when the sequel to Magick Reborn launches sometime in February 2017, just follow this link, sign up, and don’t be shy to drop her an email: http://subscribe.supernalpublishing.net/authorpage

Synopsis

I’ve been Jaxon Donovan since the day I was born, obviously. My road name, Snatch, came years later due to my ability to literally snatch up any woman I set my sights on. I’ve always been a connoisseur of the opposite sex. Tall, short, thin, thick and juicy, my tastes knew no limitations.

I didn’t think there was a limitation to my sexuality, and I found out just how true that actually was the night my best friend took it upon himself to take me in his mouth. Sure, there’d been close calls before, the slip of a hand or misplaced lips. With our propensity to share women, it’s bound to happen. That fateful night, I was met with pure intention and an experience I never want to forget.

How do you explain to your friends, your brother’s in arms, that your extremely active sexuality has led you to your best friend’s door step? How do you admit, after twenty-six years of heterosexuality, that you’re into something else?

I’ll soon find out that what happens in the dark will always come to light.

Giveaway

About the Author

Marie James: I’m a full-time, working mother of two boys and wife of 13 years. I’ve spent almost my entire lifetime living in central Texas, with only short stays in South Carolina, Alabama, and Florida. I’ve always wanted to write novels and just recently had the gumption to sit down and start one. My passions include reading everything under the sun and plotting out new books to write in the future.

Recently divorced, newly-employed, cookie-baking, PTA super mom Iris likes her life neat & organized, while house-flipping Carter’s itchy feet means he never stays in the same place for very long.

When Carter purchases the home across from Iris to renovate it for a quick sell, he has no intention of putting down roots. He certainly doesn’t plan on getting involved with the local community, let alone the town committee mom.

But life doesn’t always coincide with what we think we want.

When an unexpected family crisis pulling Carter back to the city, & Iris’ ex-husband doing his best to sabotage anything resembling a new life for her & their teenaged daughter, Iris & Carter soon find, love isn’t always sweet.

I grew up in Maryland with four siblings, three parents and an endless number of cousins within the vicinity – but it was too cold up North for this thin blooded girl. Today, I live in Florida with my two girls and a husband who shares my same sense of humor and basic take on life as we know it.

Life is too short to put dreams on the back burner.

I write both contemporary and paranormal stories that include mystery, suspense, humor, action, romance, and anything else I can think up.